


DON'T EVER THINK...

by Jo_McKeon



Series: Of Sentiment and other dreams. [1]
Category: johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst?, Don't ever..., Dreams, John being John, John is panicking, M/M, Mrs. Hudson is a love, Nightmares, Rosie is very smart, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock has a secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_McKeon/pseuds/Jo_McKeon
Summary: John is back at Baker Street. Mary is gone. John can't stop dreaming. He hasn't slept well, in a very long time. He's so tired, he's letting his guard down and mornings are for making mistakes.Sherlock has a secret. And John intends to figure it out.





	1. Routines

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> So this is my first Johnlock fanfic. So please please be kind! I worked really hard on it. Together with my beta- flowerandboy, we hope you enjoy.  
> This is set post season 4. Mary is gone. John is back at Baker Street. But he's having a hard time forgiving himself and having nightmares. He hasn't slept well since Mary died. He's so tired it's breaking his guard down. And Sherlock is being, well, Sherlock. But John thinks he's hiding something. Sherlock has a secret and John intends to figure it out.

**Chapter 1. Routines**

 

John laid in his bed staring at the ceiling, again. _Not_ thinking of Sherlock.

 

This was becoming a regular routine. He'd have tea with Sherlock, while Rosie nodded off in her bassinet: conveniently nestled between his chair at the left side of the desk and Sherlock's black chair ( at Sherlock's insistence). From this precise spot, Sherlock could, discreetly, rock her with the heel of his right foot as he continued playing his violin while John nodded in his chair time after time. Or with the toes of his left foot, leg draped over the arm rest, as John bustled around the kitchen, too busy cleaning up and washing up to notice; freezing on the spot, hands together under his chin, head resting on one arm rest, leg draped over the other, and his right foot laid flat on the carpeted floor. John silently sighing at the beautiful sight before him. And huffing at his _stupid, stupid brain!_ Sherlock had mastered the art of rocking the bassinet without so much as a flinch of the ball of his foot so as not to draw John's attention during these silent fits. He'd slacken only when the sound of dishes splashing water resumed. John never doubted his *mind palace pose*. And Sherlock, resigned to having John in his life in any way rather than none; never missed John's self abhorrence (for the irritating butterflies that the sight of them stirred) but confused it for mourning his deceased wife.

 

After tea, which led to washing up when Sherlock draped himself on his chair and *left to his mind palace*, John would take Rosie to wash up. He'd take his time. Dreading the tossing and turning that awaited him after hours of staring at the ceiling. Knowing that he'd stay awake until the first lights of taxis flashed through the window, and he'd finally pass out of exhaustion.

 

Until one day, _the_ day that changed everything. He had passed out sometime during the early morning, when he opened his eyes a few hours later to see a blurry Sherlock feeding Rosie on the rocking chair.

 

He dozed off again.

 

He opened his eyes again to find Sherlock changing Rosie on her Table, bumble bees painted all over. _Where did those bees come from?_

 

Dozed off.

 

Sherlock smiling down at him, lifting the duvet over his shoulders.

 

"Rest, John."

 

_That beautiful smile. Those bright eyes. The universe, no, galaxies, swirled in those eyes._

 

"Rest, John. I have Rosie... We'll be fine"

 

" Yes, we will.." he slurred in his sleep.

 

Sherlock froze as John's hand rested on top of his now-resting-on-John's-duvet-covered-shoulder. John smiled. _Was he asleep?_ A faint snore. _Yes, yes he was._


	2. Of dreams and other things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a nightmare. Sherlock is nervous. Sherlock is trying to tell him something. John doesn't know what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter2! This one is a bit longer. I have chapters 3-6 done and waiting for Beta.  
> I'm calling it a night with this chapter for today. But I get anxious waiting for my favorite fanfic to update it's next chapter so i wont keep you waiting that long. Hoping to post next chapter by Thursday! Enjoy! Ps don't forget to send kudos and messeges, I'd love to hear what you guys think so far.

**Chapter 2. Of dreams and other things.**

 

"NO!!! GET YOUR HANDS OFF..." _him_...

 

_Sherlock screams. Blood seeping from his back, his face, his hands, his legs.. Arms tied each to the side poles. Sweat dripping from every inch of his body. His head hung low. Another WHIP...._

 

"STOP! Stop. Pleeeease..."

 

_Sherlock looked up at him through tear wet lashes...." John?..."_

 

Sherlock tried to wake him up, arm outstretched but he didn't dare touch him.

 

"John..."

 

John is crying. Sobs slipping through his gritted teeth.

 

"God! Please!!!"

 

_A sweet melody hummed in the back of his dream. He never heard it before. Where had he heard it before?_

 

_The face of the hand with the whip turns around. MARY!_

 

_She smirks at the sight of him. Right eyebrow lifted. She raises her arm again and cracks the whip on Sherlock's shoulder. Again. And again. She pulls his dark unruled curls back to reveal his blood shot eyes. Tears shedding over his high cheek bones._

  
_The sweet melody growing louder over the whips cracking on Sherlock's bare torso. Mary traces the tip of a blade around the puckered skin. What's left of the bullet she put in him. Just an inch below his heart. " I will burn the heart right out of you...." , she whispers at Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock looks straight into John's eyes..._

 

" _SHherlo_..." John wakes up panting, wet and gasping for air. The sweet melody still lingering in the air. He swings his feet over the edge of the bed. The music stops as his bare feet touch the floor. _Was he still dreaming? Was that melody only in his dream?_

  
He rubs his eyes and shoots his eyes up to the crib. It's empty. He flies off the bed and runs his hands inside it as if digging for Rosie. It's still dark outside. He looks at the clock next to the door. 03:46. He's only slept a couple of hours. The door is slightly open. He quietly opens his nightstand drawer. _No gun... dammit!_ He opens the door slowly. He grabs for anything... a bottle of baby oil. _He can squirt it into a person's eyes and blind them for a bit...he'll figure something out._ He threads carefully down the stairs avoiding the creaking ones. He freezes at the bottom and opens the lid. He peers around to see Sherlock putting away his violin and bow at the desk. Rosie hugging her bee peacefully dozing in the bassinet to his left. An empty bottle and a burping cloth on John's chair.

 

" There's no need."

 

"Sorry, what?!?"

 

"I've already changed her nappy. The dry patch on her back was gone 38 hours ago. There's no need for the oil" Sherlock hasn't even turned around.

 

"How...?.. forget it...Tea?"

 

"Water's just boiled..."

 

This time John doesn't even bother asking. He puts down the baby oil on the kitchen table and reaches for the mugs. He hears Sherlock move swiftly gracefully grabbing Rosie's bottle and cloth and discreetly placing it on the coffee table. (Sherlock sits at John's chair every time he gives Rosie her bottle at 03:02 in the morning. The smell of her daddy helps her relax, and makes him feel close to John) Sherlock doesn't think John notices. John lets him think that.

 

"I didn't hear her. Sorry, we're such a burden.. Did she wake you?"

 

"No, she didn't. It's fine, John."

 

Sherlock hasn't moved. Standing next to the bassinet. One hand hidden in it. John sits in his chair. It's warm and smells of Sherlock. He sighs into it closing his eyes.

 

"Afghanistan?"

 

"What?"

 

"Your dream? Afghanistan?"

 

"Oh...yeah. Afghanistan..." he lies.

 

Sherlock is looking at him over his shoulder, eyes squinting, brows furrowed. He opens his mouth and decides against it. He turns his gaze back down.

  
_Why won't he sit down?_ John hesitates for a second, and then gets up. Taking Sherlock's tea. Sherlock flinches and then stands still, as John places a hand on his arm. John breathes out sadly. _Sherlock can't stand me, why would he? Why am I here? I shouldn't have come back. What was I thinking! How could I ever think...after Mary....after what she did! After what I did! Is that why he flinched....? Because of what I did...?_

  
"It's not"

 

"What?" _Was he saying all that out loud?_

 

"I said it's not a burden. Not a problem. Rosie, I mean. I don't mind looking after her at night."

 

"Oh! Right. Ta!"

 

Silence.

 

John looks down at Rosie. Then at Sherlock's hand. His finger turning red in Rosie's little fist. John smiles and reaches for it. Sherlock instantly removes his hand. Rosie stirs. John holds her hand but she continues to stir. He turns to Sherlock. He's not moving. Rosie is beginning to whimper. But Sherlock won't move. John grabs his hand, not noticing Sherlock's gasp. He puts it in Rosie's. She inhales a sob and goes silently back to sleep.

 

"I'm sorry, John. "

 

"Sorry, What?"

 

" I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I don't mean to presume...I'm sorry."

 

"Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?"

 

"She was just crying and you were tossing and turning and you looked so peaceful when you finally slept after the... and haven't slept since...I'm sorry."

 

"Sherlock...I...I don't understand. What are you sorry about?"

 

_So he hadn't dreamt him standing there in his room smiling down at him?_

 

"She started doing **_that_** fifty three days ago. I didn't mean to. She was stirring in her sleep and she started scratching at her face so I tried to stop her and she... and we... and now she won't sleep unless I...." head nodding to Rosie's grip.

 

" But why are you sorry? Sherlock, she loves you. She feels protected. It proves to her you're still here. Nothing wrong with that."

  
"..she used to hold Mary like this."

 

John's eyes closed. Mary. On the rare occasion Mary gave Rosie attention, she'd let Rosie grasp at her index while she drank her bottle.

 

" John.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I promise I won't..."

 

"Sherlock. Sherlock that's not...no, please don't stop. God, Sherlock.... you have every right to...she's... she loves you. And you love..."

 

"Yes."

 

John looks up at him. Sherlock is looking at John not at Rosie.

 

"Well? Why would you think... don't ever think...Sherlock you've been more her father than I have!" He screamed.

 

Rosie woke up wailing at that. John picked her up and shushed her but she wouldn't stop. Tears streaming down her cheeks. He swung her to and fro shushing her. When he had his back to Sherlock he froze and fell silent when Rosie looked up at Sherlock and screamed: "Da!"

  
Sherlock froze as he was reaching for his violin. He didn't dare turn around.

 

"Da! Da!" She yelled, reaching for him. Trying ever so much to push herself to him.

 

John looked over his shoulder as Sherlock robotically turned up to see them, eyes wide and sacred.

 

"Yeah Da! Get over here!" John said with a huge grin on his face.

 

Sherlock didn't know what he was more shocked at. John discovering Rosie calling him Da, or John smiling at it. He looked at John, scrutinizing every inch of his face. _Not lying. He's genuinely happy. He's ok with it..._

 

"John..."

 

"Sherlock, just get over here. We need Da."

 

 _We? Later! Focus!_ He hesitates for a second. _Well if John is ok with it, will he be ok with it all?_ He'll just have to see. He turns to the desk and grabs for the remote.

 

"Sherlo..." Sherlock turns on his player to Rosie's favourite lullaby. He slowly makes his way to John and Rosie. Extending his hand out. John freezes. _What...?_

 

"John, I need Rosie."

 

"Yes, right...Rosie."

 

He hands her over but Sherlock takes his hand as well. John looks down at their hands as Sherlock leads him to his chair smiling down at him. The sweet melody humming in the background as John's heart melts. He sits, glancing up to see Sherlock looking at him with... _fear? He's nervous? Why is he...? Oh!_

  
Sherlock's starts swaying. Dancing with Rosie held tight to his chest. Moving with grace and poise in his old pajama bottoms, that loose t-shirt that made his eyes a little blue-er-green-er and his blue dressing gown shining with the flickers of the fire light. Lines precise and smooth. Sways soft and hypnotizing. Sherlock never took his eyes off him. He seemed to pour everything of himself in it. Trying to tell him something... but all he could think of right now was how beautiful Sherlock looked. And how warm and safe all this made him feel. Sherlock loved his daughter. Had been there for her every minute of every day while John...

 

"John... John." A soft delicious whisper.

 

"John, she's asleep. Do you want me to bring her up to your room? Or I can keep her down here for a while longer and you can go sleep some more?"

 

 _No_ , he couldn't go back to what awaited him upstairs. Loneliness, tossing and turning, and the dream.

 

"I think I'll just read for a bit here. Thanks Sherlock. You should go rest. I have a feeling you never went to bed last night."

 

Sherlock placed Rosie carefully in her bassinet. Without a word he turned off the music and turned to his room. John got up to take Rosie's bottle and the cups to the sink. Just a Sherlock was close to the door way, John turned and asked: "Sherlock, do you always put Rosie to sleep that way?"

 

"Not always..."

 

And with that he was gone.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAWWWW! Hope this chapter keeps leaves you yearning for more. I know! I hate it when the author leaves you hanging like that...;)


	3. Mornings Are For Making Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up from his unexpected early morning nap to a lovely sight. Hes happy, but he's not thinking; and morning are for making mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short. But I'm just waiting on beta on ch 4. And that one is longer. Enjoy! Don't forget to leaves kudos and comments! Ta!

Chapter 3.

 **Mornings are for making mistakes**.

 

John felt something warm and heavy cover him. He opened his eyes to Sherlock smiling down at him.

_He always dreamt Sherlock smiling at him._

 

 

* * *

 

"Shhhhhuuuu...Rosie, we must be very quiet. Daddy is sleeping. We mustn't wake him up. He hasn't slept in very long. And he always says : _the transport needs rest, Sherlock."_

 Rosie did her best impression of Sherlock shushing her, but broke out in giggles just the same.

John liked waking up like this. He opened his eyes but didn't move. He wanted to see just how much Sherlock did with Rosie when he wasn't watching.

Sherlock was feeding Rosie. It was a challenge, but Sherlock made it look graceful. Sherlock made everything look graceful. He'd hover the spoon by her mouth with his right hand and quickly removed it replacing it with his left catching her arms as they swayed in front of him. It looked very much like them dancing last night, well this morning. It looked very well practiced; as if this was their normal routine. Sherlock smiled every time he successfully spooned the baby food into her little mouth. John hardly saw him smile. It broke his heart. _Why didn't Sherlock smile in front of him? Why would he? After all John did to Sherlock. And Mary..._

"Dada!" Rosie giggled as she finally got one on Sherlock, squash & peas puree splattering on Sherlocks face. John couldn't help but laugh. He strode to them while Sherlock wiped off the mess on his face with one of her burpy cloths.

"Good girl, Rosie. Glad one of us finally had the upper hand on Da!"

Sherlock huffed, more out of amusement than than being slighted. Without thinking, John reached out and wiped at Sherlock's lower lip corner with his thump, and brought it up to his mouth and sucked. "Missed a spot" Sherlock was frozen. Wide eyes and not breathing. Hand out stretched with a spoonful to Rosie's mouth. Rosie was silent and completely still. Her little lips still around the spoon, as if even she was shocked too. _SHIT!_

He bent down and kissed Rosie's blond curls and laughed nervously. "Do you mind watching her a bit longer while I take a shower?"

'Mmmm..." Sherlock nod once, eyes still wide and focused on Rosie.

"Thanks Sherlock."

When John came out, Sherlock was putting on his coat and scarf. "I need to go out." He said as he swept a golden curl off Rosie's eyes and smiled down at her.

"Sherlock, where...will you be back for...?" Sherlock was gone before he could finish. "Sherlock!" Rosie wasn't surprised. Instead she looked up at her Daddy showing him her little stuffed bee.

It it was 09:36

 

* * *

* * *

 


	4. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stays home from surgery. Still no sign of Sherlock. John makes use of his day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since chapter 3 was a little short, here's a bit more. Working in beta ch 5-6. They need a little tweaking.

09:46

[Morning Sarah. Sorry to do this. Rosie's not well. Have to stay with her. Can you cover for me today? -JW]

09:47

[...]

_Call from Sarah_

_Shit_

"Hey! Mornin Sarah."

"Hey John. Is Rosie ok? Need me to come over? That's the third time this month. Maybe she needs..."

"No, no, she'll be fine. Probably just has a bug. Fever is just a bit high. I'd go but she can't seem to leave my side."

"Alright..." Hesitates for a second. "John, if you need to get away for a bit, there's always the lilo..."

"We're fine Sarah. Thanks, really. I'll be in tomorrow."

"Alright. But if you need anything..."

"Ta!"

"See you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, fine. Tomorrow then." He really hated lying to her. "Hey Sarah?"

"Yeah John?"

"Thanks"

"No problem. See you tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

 

The day flew by playing with Rosie and checking his emails and bills. He even checked his blog. Not that he had anything to write. It had been a long time since he'd last written. _It had been a long time since they'd been on a case, a real case, together._  

He tidied up the lounge. Dusted, even under the skull. _No harm in checking, right?_ He changed Rosie's crib linens. Put a load in the wash. There was a new baby detergent in the laundry room. _Did he get this? Probably Mrs. H. He should go down and visit._

He took Rosie up to change her from her nightie. He looked in the drawers but only found colour coordinated rows of nighties, nappies and and baby sock index. _Sock index?_

"Sherlock..." He smiled.

"Where the bloody...?"

"Da! Da!"

Rosie threw her bee at the closet door, as if to signal where to look.

"Of course"

John found the left side of the armoire bursting but neatly organized with posh baby clothes.

"For God's sake... Sherlock!" He turned to his door. Then huffed realizing he was screaming at an empty flat downstairs. He picked up his phone.

[Sherlock. Are you ok?...-JW]

...delete, delete, delete...

Drops his phone on the table and reaches for a soft pink dress. A poofy thing that showed her clean nappy bottom. He changed her on her table, while she played with her recovered bee, babbling to it at record speed.

"Clever girl! You are my clever girl, aren't you Rosie?" He smiled at her. "Just like Da!"

"Da! DA!"

"Yes, I miss him too!"

He picks her and his phone up and goes down stairs after combing his fingers thru his hair. He goes over to Sherlock's chair and hesitates.

"Let's see if we can't tug him back, hmmmm?"

He sits in the chair facing his own, and sits Rosie on the left arm rest. He tries to take a picture of her and the Bison, but she was to excited screaming for "Da! Da!"

"Well let me take the picture...there."

_Send_

"Let's go see Mrs. H, hmmm? Maybe we can make some biscuits for Da?"

 

* * *

 

 

They visit Mrs. Hudson downstairs. Lots of kisses, giggles and flour all over, John helped Mrs. Hudson clean up while Rosie napped and he caught up on playground stories and Rosie's closet discoveries.

"Who else would it have been? Sherlock insisted he do all of it. Said it required particular dedication and would let any of us help. He painted the table himself you know? After he built all the baby furniture. Said: "you can't trust the safety of something that valuable in the hands of strangers." Wouldn't even let me hang up all the clothes he bought her. Said I wouldn't know which side was front or back on those plush hangers. He had those special delivered, you know? Real silk. Took him 5 days to find them. They had to be the right yellow. He kept a lot of the dresses Mary got her, and the nightie you bought her to wear on Mother's Day. The one that says: "I may look like my Daddy, but I have my Mommy's Attitude"... John? John dear, is everything ok?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah I'm ok. I just..."

"You didn't know? Surely you knew, John? Where do you think it all came from? It was all there and ready a week before you came and finally stayed."

"What? Really? God! Am I that predictable?"

"I think he was just hopeful, John. He missed you. Both of you."

"I missed him too."

 _God! What had Sherlock not done for him??_ It wasn't enough Sherlock had 'died' for him already. After all he had done to Sherlock, he still hoped for them, for him to come back. Had done everything himself, to secure the safety, well being and happiness of them both. He even stopped keeping heads in the refrigerator and fingers in the crisper! And how did he repay him? Continued to scream at him and forced him to flinch. "I really am an idiot!"

"No one is perfect, dear."

He laughed. With that he picked a screaming Rosie from her small bassinet they kept at Mrs. H's for when she babysat. Crying now: "DA! DA!"

"Yes, yes! I know sweetie! I miss him too."

"Da! Da!"

"Oh here, let me. Hold her a moment while you go wrap up them biscuits for Sherlock."

"Thanks."

John went to the kitchen to pack them up, while Mrs. H conspired a whispering conversation with Rosie. "... now, you know Sherlock can't be here right now, love. You have to be patient. We can't have Daddy know about the...thing..."

"What thing?"

"Oh nothing, nothing. You know girl stuff. Between Rosie and I."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"John." She stares at him softly but not budging. "Now you go on up. It's time for lunch and I don't have any of Rosie's food down here." She said, while her two shelves in the kitchen hung low with baby food, formula, and snacks.

He wanted to know, but knew better than to press on.

"Thanks for the biscuits" He kissed her cheek and she kissed Rosie's.

 

* * *

 

 

They had gone to visit Mrs. H, and came back. And still no Sherlock.

Lunch came and went. John was not as successful at feeding Rosie as Sherlock was. They danced around the baby food and spoon, but it was not graceful. They both wore the food more than ate it. He had a quick sandwich. Cleaned and changed Rosie into a fresh nappy and pink cotton top and pants outfit with flowers. He played with her while she sat on Sherlock's chair _(it was the only way the tears stopped. Although she had stopped wailing after she had her secret conversation with Mrs. H_ ).

He checked his phone to see if he had any reply. Nothing. And still no Sherlock.

John watched telly while not watching telly and _not_ thinking of Sherlock. Tea time came and went.

And still... no Sherlock.

God he was such an idiot! How could he been so careless? Why did he touch him? What was he thinking? No, that's it, he wasn't thinking, he was feeling... Sherlock was right; Stupid sentiment! Here he was being a selfish prick, while Sherlock had done everything in his power to make sure they were both safe and happy. And John only kept hurting him! Maybe he was shooting up... NO! He should call Greg, maybe he was on a case with him? No. If Sherlock needed space he needed to respect it.

19:03 Still no Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

 

10:16

[Missing Da! Please come home. Making biscuits for your return. -JW & RW]

 

10:18

[Receiving image]

[...]

[./image/ received]

Rosie grinned wide, her two bottom teeth showing, eyes squinting in glee, and hands together clapping. _John leaning close, arm around her waist; had turned smiling just before the flash blinded him. Sent before even looking at it._

Sherlock breathes out slowly. He wanted to rush home and take them in his arms and never let them go. But there was so much to do. And not enough time.

"hhhhuuufff...six more days. Just six more days."


	5. Texts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry haven't posted in a while. Been busy trying to find a job. Have a few chapters ready so hopefully will all be up this week! Hope you like!

...later that day.

19:04

[Sherlock, you on a case? Rosie misses you. -JW]

19:05

[...]

19:06

[Busy. -SH]  
[ I miss her too. -SH]  
[Wont be late. -SH]

19:07

[Everything alright? -SH]

19:07

[Yeah, we're ok Sherlock. Just missing you. :) -JW}

_Silence_

19:21

[Sherlock? If you're on a case, maybe I can come help? -JW]

19:22

[I miss Rosie too. -SH]  
[No need. -SH]  
[Need milk? -SH]

19:22

[No, got some this morning. Ta! -JW}  
[Gonna give Rosie a bath. -JW]  
[She'll want to see you before she goes to bed. Will you be coming home tonight? -JW]

19:23

[...]

19:24

[...]

19:26

[Yes. -SH]  
[She likes the honey bath soap, John. -SH]  
[Don't make her lay in the bath-sling. She's much to clever for that. Use the bath-seat. -SH]  
[And don't let her take the bee with her. It takes 6 hours and 12 minutes to dry properly and she'll miss his company at night. -SH]

John stared at his last messages. How...? " _You've been more her father than I have_." His own words echoed back to him. Of course he'd store that information.

19:29

[Yes, Da. I shall follow your instructions to the letter. -JW]

"Don't think your picture worked, love. I'm sure it was the bison."

"Da? Daddy?"

"Yeah, I told him you miss him. He misses you too. I'm sure he'll be here soon. Come, let's go take a bath and get you all dolled up for when he comes back, hmmm? "

"Da, bissabissa."

"Yeah, I wont eat Da's biscuits. You sound more like his girl than mine... are you sure you're my girl? Who's my baby girl?"

She blows a raspberry at him and giggles.

"Yes! You're my precious clever girl!"

Rosie giggles and squirms as he kisses her all over her pudgy little face. She lifts her bee with a quizzical expression. "Spash?"

"HA HA HA HA! No, my clever girl. Bee simply cannot go in the bath with you. Sherlock forbids it."  
  
She folds her arms in front of her, one on top of the other and pouts dramatically. "Da!"

"Yes, well, you'll have to bring that up with him."

Rosie is a very clever girl.

 

 


	6. ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry haven't updated. iPad broke, no computer and lost my job. So I'm raising funds to atleast fix my iPad to finish this story. :( Will try to update whenever I can borrow a computer.

 

John _did follow his instructions to the letter._ And he made a mental note to keep doing so as Rosie splashed around in her bath seat.

When Rosie began to rub at her eyes, John took her in his arms wrapping her in her yellow and black striped towel. John never noticed how many of her things were bee themed. _Had Mary pick any of these out? And Sherlock just continued to? Why bees?_

He drained the bath. Wiped the splashed water on the floor with a rag with his foot. Washed his teeth with one hand while carrying Rosie in the other.

He leaned in to Sherlock's door just in case he had come in while he was bathing Rosie, but nothing. He turned off the light and walked across the hall to the stairs leading to his room. There he saw Sherlock, spread out on the sofa, hands together under his chin and eyes closed. _Relief_.

"Da?"

"Yes love. Shhh. Mustn't disturb him from his mind palace."

She closed her eyes and placed her bee under her chin. He giggled quietly.

"Good night Sherlock." He whispered to the sofa.

 _Silence_.

He went upstairs as quietly as he could. Lay Rosie on her changing table, clean nappy and clean nightie (the bee one). _When did he get her this one?_ It's new. He looked at the tag. Posh. Very posh. John never shopped posh. Maybe it had been a gift from the shower Mary had. No, it was Sherlock. Sherlock had bloody bought everything. It was pure cotton. Soft and silky. It reminded him of Sherlock's dressing gown. _Stop it!_

He picked up Rosie and feed her her bottle and burped her. He sat at the rocking chair and rocked her to sleep . John was not good at singing lullabies. So instead he told her the adventures of a broken soldier and the mad man who saved him.

The mad man would always come to her rescue; he promised.

After laying her in her crib, he'd change into an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to forget the way his stomach fluttered and his whole body warmed at the sight of Sherlock and his daughter peacefully laying in their home. _It was their home right? He could call it that? Right?_

 

* * *

 

 

It had been three three days since the _morning mistake,_ and although Sherlock always came home at night and took over Rosie's night and morning rituals, he was gone by 09:36 to god knows where! And John always sent him a text to let him know he was missed... by Rosie, of course.

 

* * *

 

And so as routine commanded, here lay John in bed, staring at the ceiling _not thinking_ of Sherlock and his daughter in their home?

 


	7. Home Early

  
It was a Thursday afternoon, John had a long morning at surgery. There was a boy who swallowed a penny, with the frantic mother. The biker who had a line of small stabs on his hand and knee (from trying to groom his cat). The lady with the sprained ankle from wearing 10 cm stiletto heels. And the young man, age 23, who came in with the same sprain, from the same reason. He had skipped lunch and finish early in hopes of heading home and make a special meal for Sherlock. Well for him to eat and Sherlock to sit with him picking at his plate. _Tonight he they had to talk_. He stopped at Tesco to get all the ingredients:

 _Spaghetti a la carbonara_  
Spaghetti  
Roma tomatoes  
Fresh Basil  
Pecorino cheese  
Sausage (this way John could actually see how much Sherlock actually ate off his plate)  
Chianti  
Don't forget the rolls!

He double checked the list. _The rolls!_  He ran back to get them.

John hadn't notice the pretty young girl smiling at him at the counter next to the register. Just a passing glance, and he hurried to pay. The nice lady at the register, a short jolly old thing, smiled at him. She looked to the girl at the counter and back at John; and back at the girl, now squirming in her crutches.

"You should be wearing your ring love, if you don't want the attention."

"Pardon?" John was lost in thought _. ("We need to talk about it. Tonight. Yes, tonight. I have to tell him it meant nothing. It was an accident. No! It was...i do it to Rosie, when I fed her.") He always wipes at her little mouth and licks his finger. God! He was such an idiot!_

"Your ring, your wedding ring. You should wear it, so chickies like these stop followin' ya 'round. Although, by the looks of you, I wouldn't be surprised if they'd still come chasin'"

John turned to the girl in crutches. Ginger long curly hair, freckles and golden skin. She was pretty. _But her tangled curls were not bouncy and shiny like Sherlock's._  And her golden skin and freckles were faded from the London gloomy weather. _Not bright and porcelain like Sherlock's. And her brown eyes... no they couldn't compare to Sherlock's..._

"Oh, but not your type, even if there had been no weddin' ring ey?"

"Sorry? Oh, no. I'm not married anymore... I mean... well she's gone... She died."

"Oh love! I'm so sorry! Bugger, Sorry, I didn't know."

"No, no. No problem. How could you know?"

She went silent for a few seconds.

"Why don't ya ask the girl out? She's obviously smitten with ya"

"Oh no, I can't. I have someone waiting for me... at home...."

"Oh! All the good 'uns are taken, aren't they? Who's the lucky lady?"

"No lady... he's... well there's my daughter, yeah. She's a lady. Well, will be. " *Why the hell was he talking so much?*

"Of course he." She whispered.

John made a face. _Really_? Marked all over.

"Oh, no. Don't worry love. It's fine. My neighbour is got married ones."

"I know it's fine." _déjà vu_

"Listen, I feel just awful. I keep pesterin ya, and in all the wrong directions. Why don't ya take one of them sweets to your boyfriend?" _Boyfriend. That sounded nice, didn't? My boyfriend, Sherlock._ "On me. Make me learn my lesson. Stop buggerin things up."

"He's not..." _Oh just take it and shut up!_

John smiled and reached over for a fancy black box with gold letters. Some kinda truffles? Chocolates? Dark chocolate by the looks of it. He couldn't make out the words. French. Ugggh! Too late now.

"Here, let me write him a little apology..."

"That's not necessary....". But she was already writing something. Some tiny squiggles.

"There you go. I hope it makes up if even a little for my blunder"

"Ta!"

He stuffed the box in the bag of groceries and headed for the exit. Just as the pretty-ginger-but-not-Sherlock-girl called out to him.

"Dr. Watson!"

_Would he ever be able to get home?_

"Yes?" A bit harsher than he intended.

"Sorry. It's Alice. From this mornin'? You checked my ankle?"

"Right, right! How is it? Swelling gone down? "

"Yes, much better after your tender care." She was blushing. But John was in to much of a need to get home to notice or care, really.

"Great, great."

"It was very nice of you... I was wondering... if you don't have any plans... maybe you and I..."

" Sorry, I gotta be off. Sorry. My...ummm...waiting...at home.... sorry I have to go. Keep that ankle up."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Maybe another..." He was gone before she could finish. The nice cashier lady reached over to her hand and patted. Whispering "He's taken..."

*

John reached Baker Street still lost in his thoughts. _Would he buy that line? No! Of course not. Sherlock could read it form his face that he was lying. What was he going to say?_

A crashing noise came from upstairs. And the sound of Sherlock's muffled screams. **"Sherlo...!"** He ran up the stairs two at a time, bags falling onto the threshold when he opened the door. The lounge was empty. The final rays of sun gleaming thru the windows. More muffled yelling. He walks to the noise, coming from Sherlock's bedroom. As he reaches it, he hears Sherlock's frustrated grunt.

**"NO!NO!NO! I need it now! I can't wait any longer!... Víctor!"**

_Victor?!? Who the bloody hell was Victor? "Need"? Was Sherlock using again? Was Victor his supplier? Is this what John drove him to with his carelessness? God! He really was a bastard! He'd brought Mary into Sherlock's life only to be shot by her. Than he beat him within an inch of his life, blaming him for Mary's death. Then he had come back to Baker Street one day, months after they watched Mary's video and just never left. He didn't even know how his stuff or Rosie's had appeared in his old room. Come to think of it, the whole house had been baby proofed before he had even got there. It had probably been Mrs. H, right?_

"Sherlock? You alright in there?"

 **Silence**.

Lots of rattling, the scrapping of furniture on the floor and a loud thump on the floor.

" Sherlock...!" He reached for the door knob.

"John! You're early!" Only his head peered out the door.

"Yeah, I saw my last patient and thought I'd... Sherlock, are you alright? What's that on your face? What happened to you? Sherlock, did someone hit you? Is someone in there?" He tried to push the door open but Sherlock was much stronger and faster. He nudged John into the bathroom with the stretch of one arm and slammed the door of his room behind him with the other.

"No one hit me, John. There's no one. What were you thinking?"

"What? Sherlock come here! Let me see."

"Oh gooooood! John! It's nothing. What were you thinking? You said you finished with your last patient and you thought...what?" He yelled as he walked back thru the kitchen and into the lounge and glanced at the bags on the floor.

"Oh! We're storing the food by the door now, John? Is the refrigerator not sanitized enough for you? I haven't had any experiments or body parts in there since you moved back... well, the week after." He sulked onto the sofa, lying on his side facing the back into fetal position. _Discreetly rubbing at his forehead._ Dressing ground snugged around him.

"You were screaming Sherlock! I could hear you from the street. I though...I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine John." He sulked from the sofa. But softer this time.

John went to pick up the Tesco bags and placed them on the kitchen table. He started taking things out of the bags and put them away. He didn't feel like cooking now. *Oh the bloody chocolates!*  
He was holding them facing the refrigerator.

"What are those?" Sherlock was right behind him. _Damn Sherlock and his lack of respect for personal space._ He dropped the box startled.

"Chocolates! I do like chocolates...". The last few words came out slowly, he frowned at the scribbles on the corner.

_Vous tenez le cœur de cet homme entre vos mains._

"John...?"

"Bloody hell Sherlock, you scared me. The lady at the check out sent them to you... well she gave them to me...whatever. She wrote something on it but I don't know what it says. Looks French?"

"Ummm..." Sherlock agreed. "Sent them to me?"

"She's just a lady, Sherlock. Probably thought you were a girl. Or Maybe you got an admirer?" He smiled teasingly.

"Hmmm. And you don't know what it says?"

"No, can barely read it. What's it say?"

"Nothing important. Boring."

Sherlock opened the box of chocolates and dug in.

"Sherlock! You'll spoil dinner!"

Roll of the eyes...

Holding his hands up in surrender, "fine, fine...Sherlock, your face!"

"Very good John! And my hands and my feet. I can see where Rosie gets her cleverness..."

John was turning his face to the light. Right hand on his jaw. Sherlock was frozen. Small short breaths tickling his wrist.

"Sherlock you're bleeding. What the hell happened to you? " he demanded.

"I'm fine John!"

"You're not bloody fine! "

Sherlock closed his eyes and bent his head down.

"Sorry! Sorry. God! I'm sorry Sherlock. I didnt mean to...come here. Let me clean you up."

Sherlock let himself be lead to the loo and gently placed on the lavatory. John reached under the sink for his doctor bag, zipper secured with a child lock tie. He carefully cleaned the wound. Dabbed antiseptic and softly placed a square band aid on it. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off him, but it wasn't until he was done that John noticed.

"What happened?'

"I fell off the bed." A hint of a blush crossed his cheekbone and he looked away.

"You what? What were you doing?...no...never mind."

Sherlock blushed every more. God! He looked so beautiful.

"Just be... more careful, Sherlock. We need you in one piece."

 _We_. There it was again. That little world that made him all warm inside. John had his hand on top of Sherlock's own, on his knee. _John was so warm. John was always so warm._

"I...I...excuse me...." he bolted from the seat. John reached and grabbed his wrist.

"Sherlock! Wait!"

"I said. Excuse. Me."

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh. _He had to get out of here. Now! Before he ruined everything!_  
He looked down at their hands. Tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. _He couldn't ruin this!_ John was back home. And he had Rosie now. It was not time to be selfish.

John followed Sherlock's gaze. He let go instantly.

"Sorry."

Sherlock dashed to his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Sherlock wait! Sherlock! I'm sorry! I didnt mean to....I'm sorry. Sherlock?!?"

Nothing.

"Sherlock?"

Nothing.

John slid to the floor next to the wall across from the loo. Knees bent up, forehead down in his hands. He really needed to pay more attention. _Can't just keep doing this! Touching him whenever you want. Hurting him every time._

The door opened and shut fast. John looked up to find a fully dressed Sherlock walking over him.

"Sherlock, wait! Where are you going?"

"I need to go out."

"Sherlock, wait! Can you please.... just wait a minute?"

He reached out and grabbed his elbow. And immmedietly let go. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He didn't turn to look at him. Just froze there in the middle of the kitchen and lounge.

"No, it's not! It's not ok! It's not ok that every time I touch you, you flinch! That every time I touch you it reminds you of when I hurt you! It's not ok that I cant keep my hands to myself! That I keep hurting you! That I've drove you back to shooting up! And to this Victor guy! Who is he, Sherlock? hmmm? Your supplier? Is he happy to see you crawl back so fast?"  
John was screaming now. Nose flaring. Hands and forehead sweaty. Eyebrows raised.

Sherlock however, was a different story. He was dumbfounded. Quiet. Compliant. Sad?

"Is that what you think? That I'm "shooting up"? That I'm so weak and unhappy here with Rosie and _you_ , that I'd call up an old supplier and _crawl back_ again? That I can't stand your touch?" The last words fell into a whisper as he looked down to his shoes.

"Well were the hell do you run off to every day?"

Sherlock didnt respond. He only looked up at John. Utter and complete pain in his eyes. The square band aid only adding to his miserable state. Without losing eye contact, he rolled up his sleeves above his elbows. The old scars where fading now, almost gone. Just ghosts of punctures, there only to remind John of how low Sherlock had sunk trying to save him, again.

"I lo... _(breathes in carefully)_...I couldn't do that to Rosie, John. She's too important. I can't give her less than my full abilities."

"Sherlock...I'm...I'm sorry." He broke the eye connection. Holding Sherlocks arms, and looking at the mocking scars. Sherlock turned one of his hands around John's elbow and squeezed softly. Then quickly let go.

" I have to go."

He twisted out of John's grip, coat swinging around him, and wrapping his scarf on as he rushed down the stairs. He froze for a minute at the door.

Without turning around: "Mrs. Hudson took Rosie to the park with Molly. She should be back in eighteen minutes. She'll need a bath. Use the sling this time. She's got a knick from one of the boys at the park. He tried to steal her shovel, the yellow one that matches her bees pail. She wouldn't have it ( _the corner of his mouth twists up_ ), and it scraped her thigh just a bit. But the bath seat will make it worse. There's baby antiseptic with her nappies on the table. It wont sting but hold her ankle just the same. Her green nightie with the bees is laid out already..."  
_Breathes out slowly._ "And don't forget to keep the bee away from the water."

He was gone, door closed gently behind him before John could grasp the meaning of his words.

 


	8. Secret favour

" Sherlock, maybe you should tell him..?"

"No."

"He would..."

"No Mycroft!"

"I think you should tell him."

"I think you should go find a goldfish, since you refuse to help me and be so boring."

"Sherlock..."

"Mycroft."

"Fine. Did you at least inform Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper?"

"Yes. And Gilbert."

"Greg."

"Yes."

"Alright Sherlock. Monday. 15:00."

Sherlock is about to hang up; " Sherlock?"

"Yes. I know. It might affect him."

"Affect him? Sherlock! Even you can get _affected_. This could ruin... you could lose..."

"Everything. " Sherlock breathes out. "I know. But it has to be done."

"As you wish."

Mycroft is about to hang up. "Myc?"

They both hold their breaths.

"Thank you...now go look for your goldfish."

Sherlock smiles as he hears his brother's deep chuckle.


	9. Where John confronts Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicion and jealousy leads to bit not good things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! sorry this chapter took forever. I've been going through a lot. Had surgery and other bit not good stuff happen, and now I have a $3000 debt and need to pay rent, and lost my job and....basically I'm a mess! And no one to help me.  
> I'm just glad I have this to keep me a bit destressed and bit sane.  
> I hope next chapter won't take too long. Just getting beta-d.

  
The clock reads: 01:16.

Sherlock's received by a nervous Mrs. Hudson pulling him quickly inside her door.

" Sherlock, dear. I think John is getting very suspicious."

"What happened? What did he say?"

"Oh, not much. Just...he discovered all the preparations you made before he came back. Rosie's things. The crib. Her clothes. I mean you didn't make it hard for him, Sherlock. Sock index?"

"Mrs. Hudson, I have given you the paper I wrote, on the vital need and importance of a sock index."

"Yes, yes dear. But Rosie is really missing you. She's been making a fuss and none of us can keep her from asking for you. I had a little talk with her, and I know you're busy trying to arrange everything for..." She mouths the rest of her sentence and looks up the stairs to make sure no one is there. She adds: "but I don't know how much longer we can all keep this up."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson. I'll take care of Rosie. Just a few more days. I know it will be very hard. But I think it will work. Monday. 15:00. Mycroft will send a car for you. Be sure to leave before John can ask you anything."

"Oh dear. Ok, ok. Goodnight, my dear."

 

* * *

 

Sherlock came in to find a very dark, very quiet 221B Baker Street.

After taking off his Belstsaff and scarf, he goes upstairs to check in on Rosie. He carefully opens the door to find a sleeping John in the rocking chair, with a very awake and quiet Rosie in his arms.

"Hello Rosie. Did you stay up for me?" He whispers.

She turns and quietly replies, "Da".

"Yes. I'm sorry, my clever little bee. I've been so busy trying to finish. But I promise this morning is all for us." He promises her as he quietly takes her from John and places her in the crib. She smiles up at him, "daddy".

"Yes. I know."

Turns to John. "John, come on. Let's get you into bed. Your shoulder will be aching tomorrow. I mean, later. Come, there you go." He whispers as he takes him and tucks him into bed. He brushes the blond strands off his forehead and gives him a sad smile.

"John, I'm sorry I've been gone. It won't be long now. Rest, I have Rosie."

He turns to his suddenly very sleepy clever little bee and takes her into his arms. Kisses her soft blond curls. He changes her nappy quietly and heads downstairs with her clinging tightly against his chest.

John sleeps, thinking he's dreaming.

 

* * *

 

John wakes up a few hours later. Huffing and puffing.

He's had a bad dream, but not the one that haunts him regularly. No, this one is a whole other demon.

In his dream, _John arrives at Baker Street to find all of his and Rosie's things packed in a couple of suitcases. Completely stunned, he gapes at the door._

_"John. You're up."_

_There's a man sitting in John's chair. **HIS** chair. Not as tall as Sherlock, but taller than John. Golden skin, green eyes. Dark auburn hair that looked too perfect. He was wearing a tailored suit. Charcoal with pearl white stitches and cognac leather oxfords. The man looked flawless._

_"John, this is Victor Trevor. My Ex. Well, not so ex anymore." He smirks. "Just came to drop off my monthly supply."_

At some point in his not so good dream, John had yanked the 'flawless' man out of 221B Baker Street and had him pinned to the pavement, beating the daylights out of him. Sherlock pulling and screaming at him to leave his boyfriend alone. _John gasped. His drug dealing boyfriend! John had really screwed up. He had driven his beautiful mad...but no, Sherlock was never HIS._

It was 10:16 and he had been pacing his room trying to calm himself down. _"Sherlock would never do that. He knows how important he is to us. He wouldn't go back to drugs. He showed me. But who is this Victor?"_

 

* * *

 

 

Downstairs, Sherlock heard John pacing. He was tempted to get up, maybe go offer some comfort, but decided against it. _Today was Rosie and Sherlock's day._

 

* * *

 

 

Upstairs, John called Greg.

"Hey John! How's it going? How's Rosie?"

"Hi Greg. We're doing good. We're all fine. Well, actually no. We're not all fine. You've known Sherlock longer than I have. I really don't wanna call Mycroft on this, so I'm hoping you will help me out."

"Alright. I guess. Best I can promise you is that I'll try my best."

"Who is Victor Trevor?"

Silence. Bloody-fucking-silence.

"Greg? Please?!? I'm begging you here. If you know anything. I need to know."

"John... listen..."

"For Christ's sake Greg! Just tell me!"

(A small stir downstairs. Shit.)

"Greg, please."

"John, listen mate, I really want to help, but I really don't think this is a good idea..."

"Fuck's sake! PISS OFF!" John hangs up the phone furious and continues his pacing for a few more minutes before heading downstairs to look for Rosie, who is probably with Mrs. H.

 

* * *

 

 

John reaches the bottom of the stairs and finds nothing but a peaceful, gloomy mid-morning bathing their home. Everything is quiet but for the soft whispers of breath coming from the sofa.

He quietly walks over to find Sherlock completely splayed out on the sofa. Left leg hanging off to the side, right arm across the back of the sofa, and left arm softly but firmly holding Rosie with her bee close to his chest; both sound asleep. He was wearing his pyjama bottoms and T-shirt, and his blue dressing gown.

And just like that, his mind went blank. No bad dreams to haunt him, no mystery drug dealing boyfriend of Sherlocks, no jealousy, no fear of where Sherlock left to every morning at 09:36 and why never slept at home. Everything was replaced by the painfully beautiful sight of HIS family.

He gently placed his phone next to him as he sat down on the edge of the coffee table.

"John. What's wrong?"

"Hi. Nothing. Nothing is wrong. You're home. When did you come in? It's late. You're not planning on leaving?"

"Yes. I know. Rosie needed me. Apparently, she told Mrs. Hudson you haven't been able to feed her properly and needed my assistance if she is to survive another day." He teased. Only the edge of his mouth curled up.

"Oh! Really? I'll have you know she did not leave a single bit of food in those jars. Mind you, she was wearing most of it...but nonetheless." He was chuckling now. Sherlock loved to hear John's chuckle 16.

Rosie woke up smiling, looking between her Da underneath her and her Daddy next to them.

"Da!" She pointed Sherlock out to John.

"Yes, yes love. Da is here! Guess the picture worked after all?"

"Good morning, love." He placed a hand on Rosie's back right above where Sherlock had his on her tiny waist. Both their hands just whispering touches.

A sudden heat in his cheeks forced Sherlock to turn his face away and hide it in Rosie's belly. Blowing raspberries and munching on her belly to tickle her senseless. She squirmed and laughed (Rosie's laugh 84) until her cheeks were rosier than the cherries.

John couldn't keep his eyes off them and he had a sudden horrible feeling that it could all crumble, leaving him alone and lifeless.

"Sherlock? Who is Victor Trevor?"

Sherlock froze, face still buried in Rosie's belly. Even Rosie froze, looking down at her Da.

After a long moment of silence and no movement, Rosie reaches out for him: "Daddy, daddy, daddy!!" She reached out for him again. Rosie was a very clever girl.

Sherlock got up as he handed her over and walked to the kitchen to turn on the water for tea.

"Sherlock. I asked..."

"I heard you John." And after a moment of silence he replied. "Where did you hear that name?"

John had forgotten the intrusion he had made on Sherlock's conversation the day he came home early from surgery. Blushing a little, he persisted:

"I heard you talking to him the other day. Didn't hear what you were saying really, but you were upset. Is he...should I be concerned?" He asked when he reached Sherlock's side at the kitchen counter.

"Why would you be concerned?"

"NO BLOODY REASON!"

They all went still. Rosie started to whimper, a bit more scared this time. Sherlock reached for her and John gave her over, a little too eager.

" _YOU_ concern me Sherlock. If this guy is some...if he...what he wants..."

"Irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?!? My concern, my feelings for you, are irrelevant? Bloody hell, Sherlock! If I am so god damn irrelevant, what the hell am I doing here?"

"You're scaring Rosie."

"What!?!"

"You asked what you are doing. You're scaring Rosie." Sherlock held Rosie tight against his chest. Her little fingers grasping a fistful of his shirt.

John was mad furious now. Nostrils flaring, face red, sweating everywhere.

"He."

"What?"

"He is irrelevant. Not you John. I meant he is irrelevant."

"Then why the fuck is he back in your life?"

Sherlock looked at him with a bit of fear. He read him, every line, every flush of colour, every drop of sweat.

"Is this why you were pacing this morning?"

"Don't change the subject."

"It is. You think he's my...my..looo..ver? An Ex that came back and I took back. And a drug dealer. Interesting."

"Sherlock!"

"Why do you care? I mean obviously the drug part is not good, but I've proven to you I haven't had any. Molly gave you the test results, all 12 of them. Why would you care if he's my lover?"

"I DON'T!"

"Yes, you do. You wouldn't get all worked up like this if you didn't. But why?"

"Because you're Rosie's Da! And my...bloody...roommate."

"Flat mate" He corrected.

That did it. John went for his coat and his shoes and headed out. Sherlock went after him, with Rosie clutching at him.

"John? Where are you going? John?!?"

"Piss off, Sherlock!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and being patient! Kudos and comments feed me ( not literally but you know what I mean). :)
> 
> Also I have two online stores in which I sell things. If anyone could help me out by sharing them and/or buying from there so I can get some $ to get me started on my way to recovery, I'd love you forever! (I already do but, just more)  
> The app or online website is POSHMARK my users store name are @porquis and @lilariel  
> Every penny helps! And if you know of any other ways I can get help please let me know! I'm desperate! Ta loves!


	10. Where are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry I haven't updated. I am sick sick sick. Literally. Flu and all. I'm a mess. Editing ch 11. Hopefully up by Monday.

  
11:52

[John? Where are you? -SH]

11:53

[John, Rosie is crying and scared. -SH]

11:54

[John. -SH]

11:55

[If I make you lunch, will you come home?-SH]

12:01

**Missed call**

12:03

[If I promise to eat too, will you come home? -SH]

12:37

**Missed call**

12:43

**Missed call**

15:07

[John, really. You're being quite stupid.-SH]

15:09

[What I mean is, this whole thing is stupid. -SH]  
[Not you. -SH]  
[You're not stupid. -SH]  
[You're quite clever really. -SH]  
[Brilliant actually. -SH]

15:59

**Missed call**

18:37

[Dinner? -SH]

19:01

[I could heat up dinner again? -SH]

19:54

[John! We have a case! -SH]  
[Come if convenient. -SH]  
[ Ok, come even if incovenient. -SH]

20:03

[ John, Rosie is really ill...-SH]  
[She's turning lilac. -SH  
[She swallowed an expirement I had on the coffee table. -SH]  
[She has pink spots on her skin.-SH]  
[They look like bees. -SH]  
[Cute bees, tho. -SH]

20:06

[I was lying. - SH]  
[Rosie is fine. -SH]  
[Haven't had any experiments in 6 weeks, 4 days, 8 hours...-SH]

20:48

[Rosie has had dinner and a bath.-SH]  
[Will you come tell her a soldier story?-SH]  
[The one where he and the madman chased a bad cabbie?-SH]

21:49

[Rosie finally went to bed. -SH]  
[She misses you.-SH]  
[I...-SH]

22:59

[John -SH]  
[I'm sorry. -SH]  
[Please come home. -SH]

23:36

[John. Come home immediately.-SH]  
[Please. -SH]

23:38

[John, please come home. -SH]

23:58

[John. I miss...-SH]

23:59

[I love you...

Delete. Delete. Delete.

 


	11. Black Sedan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I have no wifi, almost getting evicted. Money is short and running out of time. Hopefully will post next ch sooner.

John rubbed his face with his ice cold hands. Phone open to Sherlock's messages. 38 text messages. 4 missed calls. It was 03:15 and here he was sitting on the bench of Rosie's favorite park. The one where Sherlock had brought her so many times on his own.

 _God_! How can he be such an idiot? What was he thinking, confronting Sherlock like that? He had no right to ask. So what if Sherlock had an ex who was no longer an ex? Who was John to ask for answers to questions he didn't ask?

Sherlock has all the right to be happy. To be loved. _Victor did love him, right_? To be touched without being reminded of near death at the hands of his... whatever John was. John is an idiot.

John was only in the way. Him and his baby. The daughter of the man who almost killed Sherlock (even if not with his own hands. Sherlock had died, even if faked, for him. And he had almost died trying to save John from himself after Mary's death at the hands of C ), and the woman who lied about her identity, whose real name neither of them knew, and who shot Sherlock and missed his heart just by this much. I don't care what Sherlock says, she missed. They were imposing on Sherlock. Taking advantage of him. Hurting him daily. And he still took care of them and kept them safe.

 

* * *

* * *

 

John was a fucking idiot.

"Dr. Watson."

Mycroft's black sedan rolled up. The man pushed open the door with the end of his umbrella and scooted to make room for him. It wasn't a question.

"Piss off Mycroft!"

"John, please."

Wow, genuine concern and a _please_.

John got up slowly and stood his ground, firm.

"I assure you John, you'll want to hear this."

"Fine. But you're dropping me off at Baker Street and helping me pack."

"Pack." It wasn't a disgusted expression. Rather one of confirmation of his concerns. "Come, John. Anthea has produced warm tea and a warm meal. I'm sure you are famished by now."

John went in and took his meal. He ate it with a little more desperation than he intended. The tea warmed his hands but didn't quite cut it.

"Drink? No, you don't drink when you're emotional."

"I'm not..."

"Yes, you are."

"What do you want Mycroft? You can't possibly be roaming the streets giving rides to homeless people."

"Homeless? I know Baker Street is not quite... majestic as Buckingham Palace , but I have heard that home is where the heart is. Or so they say..."

"What do you want Mycroft?" He said through gritted teeth.

"I came to take you home. Sherlock has been in a frenzie since you've been gone all day. And Rosie isn't happy either. You left your family after a big fight and didn't respond to any of their messages. They're worried something might have happened to you."

" _They're_ not my family. Rosie is."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure whatever row you two have had you can talk it out. That's what you do, _talk_." He said the last word with disgust."John, Sherlock is quite...attached to you. Quite fond of you. There is no one else in this world more important to him than you and Rosie. I can assure you this."

"Hmm"

"I can."

"What answers did I want to hear?"

"Victor Trevor."

John unfolds his arms and stares at him.

"Victor Trevor went to uni with Sherlock. Victor was a few years ahead. Quite clever, but very slow compared to Sherlock. But then again most people are." He said it with a hint of pride. "Sherlock became quite fond of him. They spent a lot of time together. Moved in to the same dorm. Victor worked at the Uni Deli and Sherlock spent all of Victor's work times there. Victor had turned them both to drugs. I was not aware of this at the time. So, on the outside, he looked...happy. Until..."

"Until what?"

"Victor's dad found out. He was not...understanding."

"Understanding of what? They were dormmates."

"They were more than _Dorm-mates_."

I knew it!

"You don't seem surprised"

"I live with Sherlock Holmes. I'm not easily surprised."

"An advantage I'm sure."

"What is?"

"Both"

John turned to look at him. Not quite surprised but unsure he understood what Mycroft meant.

"Yes. I do mean _that_."

"Hmmm."

"Well, Victor's father was less than understanding of their more-than-flat-mates-relationship. People are idiots." He huffed. "He took him out of uni immediately. Sent him off to the Queen's regiment. Sherlock tried to look for him. Went to every post. He finally asked me to help; after a phone call, I took him there. But Victor's Father found out and intercepted. He beat Sherlock right there in front of Victor and his platoon. Victor didn't even flinch. Sherlock called for him. Begged him. But Victor knew better than to get in the way of his father. Sherlock was devastated. I ran to him. My men pulled the old man off of Sherlock but by then he had been seriously hurt. Broken bones. Bruised ribs. His eye was shot..." he paused remembering with pain the image of Sherlock all but given up under the bigot.

"Bloody hell..."

"Quite. There was lots of it too."

GOD What had he done?

"John, I'm not telling you this to make you bring up those feelings of guilt again. You wanted to know who Victor is. Victor is the only man Sherlock loved. The _boy_ who broke his heart, among other things as I later found out. Sherlock spent 3 weeks in hospital for his injuries. After being patched up, Doctor's informed me of all the broken bones and old bruises he carried. Both from beatings and from needle injections. Victor had been an abusive...partner. Abuse that extended to their... intimate relationship. Victor had drugged him and used him, countless times." He paused and took in a breath. "When I confronted Sherlock about it, he said Victor was entitled to it. That he had been... disobedient. I checked him in to a very respected private rehab where they helped him not only with his drug addiction but with "erasing" his feelings. After that Sherlock vowed never to feel _that_ for anyone. Until...you came. "

"What? I'm not..."

"Please don't. We both know that line doesn't work anymore. I'm sure it is not from me you wanted to hear all of this, but I don't think Sherlock will tell you. Not sure he would know how to. And you need to understand, Sherlock has done more than "die" for you, Dr. Watson. He's given you his trust. His heart."

"I'm such an idiot!"

"Finally...Something we can all agree on." Mycroft said, but not in a mean way.

"But why is he seeing him now? Why have contact with him if he is the reason...he made himself into who he is?"

"Sherlock had given Victor something of his. Something very precious and he needs it back."

"What?"

"That, Dr. Watson, is a question for Sherlock Holmes."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will try to post soon. When I get free wifi again.


	12. Don't mock me...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. It's taking forever to post because I have no money! Sorry guys. I hope to post another ch tomorrow!

 

 

The black sedan pulled up to 221 Baker Street.

 

"Mycroft? Why are you telling me all this? Why get involved?"

 

"Despite what my brother might think, Dr. Watson, I do have his best interests at heart, and you...you are his best interest."

 

"Is that sentiment?" John teased. Mycroft looked appalled. John got out of the car and leaned his head back in: "Did you ever have a ... goldfish of your own Mycroft?" He smiled. (Smile 7:being naughty)

 

"Piss off, Dr. Watson."

 

John leaned back and chuckled as the car drove off.

 

* * *

 

 

John froze for just a minute before he walked in to 221B Baker Street, he took a deep breath and opened the door. Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the sofa cushions, elbows on his knees, head bent low, lost in his thoughts. He didn't look up.

 

"Sorry..." they both said at the same time.

 

Sherlock looked up. Brows furrowed and eyes moving left to right. John let him read him. Well, it's not like he had a choice. But he let his feelings show openly.

 

"Sherlock..."

 

"Mycroft!"

 

"No. John." John had always wanted to correct him even if only once.

 

"hmmm don't be dull John. You spoke with Mycroft. What did he tell you? To be nice to me? Hmmm? To have pity on me? Did he tell you the sad story of the stupid genius who fell for the oldest trick in the book? Is that what you've come to do John? To show me compassion, pity?" Defensive. He had a right to be, John told himself.

 

"No."

 

"No?" He mocked back.

 

"No Sherlock, he told me a story of a beautiful genius who fell in love with the wrong boy. A boy who wasn't man enough to fight for a precious genius. Although come to think of it, I'm glad he didn't. Being that he didn't deserve him. A beautiful genius who has been hurt way too many times. Who has been treated unjustly too many times. A brilliant beautiful amazing extraordinary genius madman whom has something of mine. And to whom I have brought something of his."

 

Sherlock cheeks were slightly tinted. He got up and paced. Stopped at Rosie's bassinet next to his chair and checked on her and continued pacing. And began to rant: "John. I don't know what Mycroft told you. Stupid fat Mycroft, should have gone eaten cake instead! But I can't... I don't know...John..." he was working himself into a frenzy. "I don't know what you're saying."

 

"You can't read it?"

 

"Too much data. Confusing. Elaborate."

 

"I love you, Sherlock."

 

Sherlock froze in the middle of the lounge. Eyes wide open, hands in his unruly curls.

 

"Sher..."

 

Silence.

 

"Sherlock, are you ok?"

 

Not a blink.

 

"Sherlock. Sherlock, I'm sorry. It's ok if you don't feel...that way...for me...if you want we can just pretend...no I can't pretend...I'll move out in the morning, yeah? It's ok Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'll go pack and we can just... we can..."

 

"Yyyuuyuuyouuuu..."

 

John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. <em>Of course it would take him this long to process what John said.

 

"Yes. I do."

 

John was smiling wide. Eyes gleaming with the flickers of the fire. Completely open.

 

They stood there, in the middle of the lounge. Not moving, not blinking, not breathing. Lost in the moment of realization.

 

"Whawhawha whattt do I hhahahave of yours?" Sherlock finally broke the silence.

 

"My heart."

 

Sherlock's eyes filled with tears.

 

" aaa aaa aand what do you have that's mine?"

 

John closed the distance between them. Placed his left hand on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock took in a quick breath. John's right hand reached up and caressed Sherlock's cheek and then reached back and cupped the back of his head. He reached up on his toes "this..." he said and kissed him.

 

He kissed him softly. Just a small brush of lips. A ghost of a touch. Very chaste. "This is yours." He looked up at Sherlock.

 

Sherlock was looking at him, eyes wide but soft. And a single tear escaped their soft fence. John reached up and wiped it.

 

"Hey, hey. Why are you crying?"

 

"Jjjjajajajohn.." he let out the breath he was holding. " Do..don't... don't mock me."

 

"I'm not."

 

"But you're not ga.."

 

John stopped him with his lips.

 

"We both know that line doesn't work anymore." He whispered on his lips.

 

Sherlock stood frozen. John looked up at him, still smiling until he saw the glimmering drops rolling down those gorgeous high cheekbones. He reached up, both hands cupping Sherlock's face and wiping them off with his thumbs.

 

"Oh god, Sherlock, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry for everything I've ever done to hurt you." John was holding him tight in his arms now. Sherlock was holding him back too.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of hours later. Sherlock and John where laying on the sofa, each on either side of it.

 

"I really do you know? Love you. Always have."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yeah"

 

"Since when?"

 

"Angelo's. January 29."

 

"Interesting."

 

"I thought you were bloody brilliant. Still do."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"When did you know?"

  
"Bart's"

  
"When? What case?"

 

"No case."

  
"When were we at Bart's with no case?"

 

Sherlock gave him a knowing look.

 

"God! Really? The first time we met? When Mike took me there to meet you?"

 

"Aahum..." he shook his head, curls bouncing.

 

"But how? You didn't even know me. I didn't think I was your type..." he blushed a little at that.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a smile.

 

"I thought it was obvious."

 

"What? Your type? No. I thought you liked Irene."

 

"She was intellectually... intriguing. But not my type."

 

"Well I certainly didn't think I was your type. Slightly older (*smirk*), blond, blue eyed, broken ex-soldier, doctor with a baby."

 

"You didn't have Rosie then. Not that I don't want her...now."

 

John froze, sad look in his eyes. Another way he had hurt Sherlock. He had married another person, a woman. AND had her baby.

 

"John, Rosie is very important to me."

 

"You're important to her."

 

* * *

 

 

 

John wondered if that had made Sherlock think he had never wanted him; because he was a man.

 

"No, I always knew you were bi-sexual."

 

Sherlock always seemed to be able to read his thoughts.

 

"So...soldiers huh?"

 

Sherlock only looked at him straight in the eyes.

 

"Oh! Really? Soldiers?"

 

"Everything about you is my type."

 

John's eyes watered. Here was the most beautiful amazing brilliant genius he had ever had the honor of knowing, and he loved him. Him. John Hamish Watson, a broken, wounded soldier, fairly capable, some what professional Doctor, lousy father (as it turned out to be), idiot. And he loved him.

 

"You're not broken, John, just bent a little. You're an excellent Doctor and a wonderful father who has been in mourning."

 

"I haven't been in mourning. Well not for Mary."

 

"You...What? Then for who?"

 

"I've been mourning you since...."

 

Sherlock looked down at his hands clutching his knees to his chest. "Sorry." He whispered.

 

"And then I thought Victor came to take you away from me. I mean you weren't mine. But I thought he came to reclaim you as his, and I would lose you, again, whatever I had of you. I would have to leave. Go back to a lonely empty haunted house and raise Rosie alone and poorly as she has mentioned to you already."

 

Sherlock reached for John's hand and squeezed it gently.

 

"You're an idiot."

 

"I've been told"

 

"But you're _my_ idiot."

 

John laughed quietly.

 

"You do believe me, don't you John? That Victor is irrelevant?"

 

"Yes. Oh!!! I forgot!"

 

Sherlock whined when John pulled away from his grip and walked to his jacket draped over his chair.

 

"John..." Sherlock whined.

 

"I'm coming back. Just...where is it? Oh don't tell me I dropped the bloody... oh no here it is."

 

He brought over a small black wooden carved box. No lock. Just a small fastener. It looked ancient. John had not opened it. It belonged to Sherlock and he would share it with him if he wanted to.

 

"Where did you get this!? John, you didn't...?"

 

"What? Go after your ex and pound him to the ground until he gave it up? No. But maybe one of Mycroft's minions did."

 

Sherlock was smiling. He jumped up off the sofa with one graceful swift.

 

"John! Do you know what this is? What this means?"

 

"No, what is it? What does it mean?"

 

"It...everything!"

 

Sherlock ran for his coat and scarf and was out into the dusk before John could even realize he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. Kudos and comments feed me.  
> Hope to post tomorrow!


	13. Now what?

Sherlock left without another word. Coat flying behind him.

 

"Sherl...."

 

Now what?...

 

John's fozen staring at their still open door. 

 

"Now what?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock is grinning, far too happy to notice how slow the cab ride is taking. The wooden box on his lap. 

 

He he looks down at it. Hand shaking in excitement and nervousness. He unclicks the latch with his trembling long alibaster fingers. 

 

He he takes a breath slowly in and holds it as he lifts open the lid. 

 

"NO! NO,NO,NO!!!!"

 

The cabbie startles and swings the car on the 2 am empty road. He halts to a stop. 

 

Sherlock looks up. "What are you doing? GO!" He snarled.

 

The cabbie catches his breath and resumes his driving, all too happy to get this madman to his destination.

 


	14. Oh, brother mine.

A cream folded note lays mockingly in the wooden box.

 

What to do? Should he read it? Find a boring explanation of why Victor decided not to return his property in the full? Or find a dull plea for him to return to him? Would he not? No! He couldn't leave John. His John.

 

He picks up the note and a small vial falls to his lap. Just as he is about to reach for it, the cabbie come to a stop.

 

"Sir, we're here."

 

Still looking at the vial, Sherlock freezes in place.

 

Moments pass, time seems to freeze with the world around it. He can't move. He can't think. The itch covering his body. Trembling with anticipation. 7%. Clean. Clear. Glowing in the dark that surrounds him.

 

The door opens and a very tired breath comes from its opposite.

 

"Sherlock...what.." He looks down at what Sherlock is staring at.

 

A knowing look and anger creeping up in heat to his face. He grabs the vial from Sherlock's lap. Sherlock steps out of the cab reaching for it, stumbling and almost falling. He catches him in his arms and holds him up. Sherlock doesn't put up a fight. Just gives in to the embrace, and sobs.

 

"Oh, brother mine." Sherlock falls to his knees and sobs into his hands.

 

"Myc, he..."

 

Mycroft turns to the stunned cabbie and swears him to secrecy, just this side of threatening his life. They bring Sherlock inside, still sobbing silently, head hanging low. Mycroft pays the cabbie and closes the door behind him.

 

He sits next to Sherlock, ever so carefully. When Sherlock starts breathing normally, he chances a glance at him.

 

"I wasn't going to." Sherlock whispers.

Mycroft stays silent.

 

" I wouldn't" Silence.

 

"Myc, I wouldn't. I couldn't do that to him."

 

"..."

 

"He won't give it back. I need to go find him. I need..."

 

"No!"

 

"Myc, pleeeease!"

 

"No Sherlock! Not again."

 

"Myc, I need it. I need it."

 

"No."

 

"Myc..." and with that he sobs into his hands again.

 

" Oh, Sherly."

 

They both sit there alone, surrounded by furniture and coldness. Sherlock's sobs the only thing breaking the silence.

 

* * *

 

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying! As much as one can enjoy a little angst. ;)   
> So I'm leaving the boys here, with unanswered questions and pleas, and moving it to the next part of this serious. This next part will give us a little gist of SH pov. But don't worry! The boys will find answers and resolve their issues in the part that follows.


End file.
